


A Study in Mystrade

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Basically it's a mismatch of drabbles, Fluff, M/M, Surprising Rice, Surprising angst, coffee shop AU, hurt comfort, mystrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 04:30:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of prompts, written through the Mystradian relationship. Not in any form of order, more of a character and ship study than a plot based story. The drabbles that don't fit anywhere else!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Anniversary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pastmydancingdays](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Pastmydancingdays).



> So this chapter was inspired by the wonderful pastmydancingdays on tumblr, giving me the one word prompt. I would advise against reading this if you're of a sensitive disposition when it comes to surprises. Enjoy, and Rhiannon, this is for you!

Mycroft woke up with a soft smile on his face. Dawn had not yet broken, and the entirety of the world was still fast asleep. Quietly walking around the house, he dressed himself, sipping on a cup of tea, before leaving the Lestrade-Holmes residence, thinking forward to their anniversary plans that evening.

He walked in, sitting down at his desk, a more jovial air to his step than usual. Scribbling at his papers, Anthea came in around lunch time, trying to persuade him to eat. “Sir, what are your arrangements for tonight?” She asked him, a reassuring yet slightly sad smile on her face.

“Gregory and I have plans.” Mycroft muttered curtly, focused on the plans in front of him, retreating back into his mind. Anthea left promptly, shaking her head, though no other reaction came out of the petite woman. Five o’clock came and went, Mycroft finally finishing the plans for the Russian embargo a little later into the evening than he had planned. Greg wouldn’t mind. 

Mycroft strode out of the office, sliding into his own sleek car, driving through to a reputable florist. Picking carefully a bouquet of Greg’s favourite flowers, (daisies, roses and a lily or two,) he drove on further to meet his love. Mycroft walked sedately through the park, to where they would always meet.

Arranging the flowers in a vase, Mycroft stood back respectfully, looking down at the marble tombstone, engraved with all manner of sentiment. Sentiment. Wiping a tear from his eye, Mycroft sighed quietly.

“Happy Anniversary, darling.”


	2. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt number Two: Comfort. Mycroft thinks about how lucky he truly is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter goes out to my wonderful Beta, prompt giver, blanket lender and all round amazing guy, courtedbydeath. Nick, this one's for you.

Mycroft Holmes seemed to have a life with many creature comforts. A very nice Edwardian house on the outskirts of London, a well paid job, (although minor,) in the British Government, a sleek set of cars to ferry him to and fro across the bustling city, without contact with the great unwashed masses.

Yet, if you were to ask Mycroft what his greatest comfort in life was, it would be the days where the sun streamed through the curtains onto the bed, casting two lumpy shadows onto the floor. The mornings when the alarm would ring with its usual subtlety, causing the elder Holmes to roll over with a faint groan. The mornings where he could sit up on the pillow, looking down at the shapeless form beside him. 

Mycroft would smile down at Greg, kissing the only part of him not buried under three feet of blankets. Hearing a faint mumbled garble from below the cotton mountain, Mycroft would chuckle, sliding himself out of the warm bed and out into the cold morning. That small touch, that small shared moment at dawn was comfort enough, no matter what life threw at him. Greg was like an armour he could carry around, the knowledge that he was loved, and had someone to go back to at the end of the day was all Mycroft Holmes ever needed. 

Though the cars were quite handy.


	3. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was based slightly off of Levi Kreis' song "I Should Go." Mycroft and Greg meet again after a long while, but not in the best of circumstances.

The spilt was messy, to say the least. The fight spiralled from a raised eyebrow, to raised voices, to Greg packing a bag and spending the night at Baker Street. Neither man yielding enough to apologise, both too stubborn to apologise. The Government and the Inspector became two separate entities, drifting apart on a sea of pride, each longing to build the bridge they burnt.

So when they met again two years later, standing side by side in a damp graveyard, neither could find the words. Mycroft stared at Greg, feeling a pitiful ache rise again in his chest that couldn’t be entirely attributed to the sleek black headstone that carried the Holmes name that he stood beside. Greg finally broke the silence, catching his eye.

“You okay?” He asked quietly, knowing the answer that was buried inside, knowing all too well the answer that would rise up.

“Perfectly fine, yourself, Inspector?” 

Greg shook his head sadly. “Myc. You’re not.” He murmured softly, looking at Mycroft, properly looking at him for the first time in two years. Noticing the all too slender curve of Mycroft’s back under his jacket, the lines around his eyes that should be there from laughter, put there by pain. “Please, talk to me.” Greg almost pleads with him.

Mycroft looks back down at him, biting his lip ever so slightly. He faltered for a brief moment, his eyes widening, allowing Greg one final unwilling glimpse into his shattered soul. His eyes lingered on the Inspector, hope flashing between the two of them, the distant and warming memories of the two of them together. The love they shared, now as destroyed as the wedding china on the kitchen tile. “I should go.” The elder Holmes muttered stiffly, suffering now his new familiar, love a distant memory. Opening his umbrella promptly, he began to walk away from the grave and Greg. He turned, reluctantly. “You shall need this more than I.” Mycroft mumbled quietly, handing over the umbrella. Without another word, he walked out into the wet, shouldering the rain alone once more.


	4. Beauty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft still battles with past demons. Greg tries to help.

Gregory Lestrade had a problem. Quite a significant one in his eyes, that festered underneath the surface of the picture perfect relationship. The problem arose every dinner time, every evening in bed, with every skipped dinner. Greg loved almost every single aspect of Mycroft and his personality, but there was one part that seemed alien and infectious. Mycroft Holmes could not comprehend his own beauty. One evening, Mycroft was dressing rapidly, changing into his full length pyjamas, when Greg asked him a question.

"You do realise you're beautiful, right?" He asked, sitting up in bed in his boxers.

A quiet snort of derision sounded from the other end of the room. "Gregory, I assure you, you must have taken leave of your senses." Mycroft slid into bed next to him, taking particular care to cover his non existent girth. "I am not classified under any interpretation of beauty, and I still wait for the day when you realise that." He stated. 

Greg frowned slightly, looking over at him. "You must be joking. Myc." He looked over at him, finding confirmation of his fears etched into Mycroft's face. "I love you, no matter what you think of yourself." He reassured the elder Holmes, moving a little closer to him. "You're smart, funny, handsome, charming..." Greg's voice deepened slightly. "And very sexy, might I add."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Let me correct myself. I am not classified under any sane interpretation of beauty, nor anything to do with certain carnal desires." He rolled his eyes, putting on his reading glasses and picking up a book. "You are the beauty within this relationship, my darling."

"That's a lie." Greg muttered, a little sadly. "Mycroft, I'm not planning on leaving. Not now, not ever." He put his hand on the book, distracting him. "You are beautiful." He cupped his face. "I'll make sure you believe that." 

Looking back at him sadly, Mycroft shook his head. Some things were better left unearthed. "Goodnight, Gregory." He sighed. "I shall see you in the morning." Mycroft closed his book and took off his glasses. "I love you."

Greg kissed him softly, catching him unawares. "I love you too, regardless of what you think. I'll make sure you know everyday that I think you're beautiful." He let Mycroft burrow into the duvet, curling up behind him. 

"I do hope so."


	5. Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I apologise for the lateness of this chapter. Secondly, be reassured that I shall be posting copiously over the next few days by way of an apology. My thanks as usual go out to my wonderful beta Nick, my lovely friend Honey who I torture with angst on a regular basis and my dear partner in fandom Joni. Thanks to everyone who comments and keeps me going!

Greg always prided himself on being a man of action. This usually was advantageous, especially with his line of work. It also spanned into his relationships, or at least, it used to. He had been dating Mycroft for nearly three weeks, and there'd not been any lip on lip action as of yet. Sitting at his desk, Greg sighed. Patience, although a virtue, was not one of his many qualities. 

Admittedly, that got him into trouble more than he'd like to admit, but Greg was still as stubborn as a mule. Before he developed an overwhelmingly giant crush on the elder Holmes, things proceeded quite quickly. He'd charm the ladies (or gents) and within a few dates they'd have progressed quite far. Not with Mycroft.

Regardless, Greg knew that Mycroft was somewhat romantically stunted. With a cup of lukewarm coffee in his hand, Greg decided to make a plan. It was time to act.

Fancy coming over tonight? -GL

 

Later that evening, Greg was jeaned and slippered, opening the door to a impeccably dressed Mycroft. 

"You look... Well. Like you. There's not really a large frame of reference for six foot tall Civil Servants." He grinned. inviting Mycroft in. 

Mycroft smiled back at him politely, walking in. "Good evening to you Gregory." He chuckled softly, hanging up his overcoat.

Relying on his philosophy that actions speak louder than words, Greg walked up to Mycroft, leaning up and kissing him chastely on the lips, only for a few moments. He pulled back with a cheeky grin on his face, noting how pink Mycroft had turned.

The elder Holmes' face rose through the shades, going from pale, to peach, to brightly beaming red cheeks. "Well. Ahem." He looked down at Greg, quite shocked. "You've wanted to do that for a while, I gather?" Mycroft murmured, perplexed for the first time since his teens. 

Greg chuckled softly, nodding unashamedly. "I am a man of action, if nothing else." He grinned still, walking into the kitchen. "We could do a repeat, if you wish?" Greg suggested, leaning on the doorframe. 

Mycroft's face brightened again at the thought. He smiled slightly back at Greg, moving towards him and taking his hand. "Thank you, I would like that very much." He squeezed his hand gently, leaning down to kiss him for the second time.


	6. Arguments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Mycroft forgets/blows off his anniversary date with Greg again, fighting ensues when Mycroft returns."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know I have been less than useless when trying to update this fic, but real life has that annoying habit of preventing creative juices. However, I do intend to write a little more, now most of my exams have finished/no more relatives are about to die. 
> 
> This particular chapter comes from an anonymous prompt on my tumblr, which really do help me write. So THANK YOU. Here you are, nonny. 
> 
> As always, thanks go out to my various RP partners who point out when I make ridiculous mistakes, when I make my characters smirk too much, and basically they put up with me. So much love.

Walking through the house, Mycroft knew he was in trouble. Whether it was the delicately soft click of the door that reverberated over every silent surface of the foyer, or the shiver of flesh that moved across his spine as he stepped over the threshold, something seemed... off. Placing the flowers carefully onto the hall table; Mycroft stepped quietly into the darkened living room, flicking on the light. The halogen bulb made a soft splutter before illuminating the room, drawing his attention to the evidently livid man perched on the sofa.

"You're late." The darkened form of Gregory Lestrade flickered up, fixing Mycroft with a glare. He stood from the sofa, before pointedly walking past the elder Holmes, with not even a glance in his direction. Storming towards their bedroom, Greg ignored the protestations of his partner. 

“Gregory, I do apologise.” Mycroft called up the stairs, walking up to him. “I never intended to not make our appointment this evening, darling. I have aggrieved you, and for that I am sorry.” 

Greg simply placed himself on the bed, turning away from him. “Let me just clarify this.” He spat, not looking at the elder Holmes, his face red from anger and shame. “You forgot our anniversary, turned up late from work, leaving me at the restaurant alone, and you have the gall to say you’re ‘sorry’?” Greg seethed. 

Mycroft wrung his hands together, knowing he had failed Greg. “I never imagined... I didn’t intend-” His spluttering was soon interrupted. 

“You didn’t intend to forget? You didn’t imagine that your utter lack of consideration for anything that matters to me could cause me to be upset?” The DI yelled, spinning around to face him. “The whole world doesn’t revolve around you, Mycroft!” He hissed, angrily packing a bag. 

By now, Mycroft was becoming exceptionally worried. “Gregory, please. Calm down, and we can discuss this like adults.” He tried to soothe him, moving closer to Greg as he started to pack. “There’s no need to be hasty.”

Greg laughed, a sardonic and cruel sound. “The time for discussion was a very long time ago, Mycroft.” He muttered, throwing suits and his warrant card into the holdall. Greg zipped up the bag, much to the dismay of the now pacing elder Holmes. 

“What do you expect me to do, Gregory?” Mycroft asked softly, placing a hand on his shoulder, which was quickly shrugged off. “Do you expect me to beg for your forgiveness? To wheedle and wile until you begrudgingly accept me again..?” He suggested, following Greg to the door desperately. 

Standing in the porch, the dull light of the moon filtering through the windows illuminated both their faces, the angular shadow of Mycroft’s features jutting uncomfortably against the round and warm structure of Greg. “I’ll have Sally sent around to collect the rest of my things, Myc- Mr Holmes.” He eventually replied stiffly, allowing himself one final glance into the icy pools of Mycroft’s eyes. Opening the door, Greg stepped out, leaving no time for goodbyes. 

The sleek sliver car soon tore away from the drive, leaving Mycroft standing in the cold, the cold chill surrounding him and encapsulating his shattered heart, the ice forming once more.


	7. Coffee Shop AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes courtesy of tumblr, and an anon prompt to my dear cohort mark-gaytits. 
> 
> "AU where Lestrade owns a bakery called 'Lestrudle' and the only reason Mycroft goes there is because of the decently priced cups of coffee, and not because the owner is handsome and it certainly isn't because said owner sticks his tongue out just a little when icing the display cakes. And it has nothing to do with the way he smiles a little brighter when Mycroft steps in. No, just because of a good cup of coffee at a decent price."

Mycroft Holmes was entirely a man of habit. The spheres of his life were consistent, plain and perfectly synchronised with one another, so it was entirely unnecessary to make changes, was it not? Alas, much to his dismay, he found himself directed past his usual coffee shop, Anthea citing temporary building work. Giving him a patient look in the car, Anthea gently reminded him that he only had to get a coffee and that the quality was going to be just as good as the manufactured excuse he drank each morning, if not better.

The elder Holmes was delivered outside a quaint building, quite small and white, with a faint aroma of coffee and pastry floating decadently from the invitingly open door. Mycroft stepped through, scanning over the menu with a quick eye and ringing the tarnished service bell on the faded yet clean counter. A slightly shorter, lean and frankly  _goregous_ man put his head through the door from the kitchen, his already greyed hair highlighted with tufts of flour. The man gave Mycroft a grin, dusting off his hands and walking towards him. "Mornin' and welcome to Lestrudle. What can I get you?"

Mycroft blinked slightly at his disarming smile, finding himself staring. "Skinny flat white..." He paused for a moment. "To go." He finished regretfully, finally returning the smile of the man. His eyes were slightly bagged but highly alert and inviting, the chocolate brown of the iris warmed like the coffee. Mycroft cleared his throat slightly as the man began to work on his order with an easy grin. "So, the bakery is yours?" He asked, looking pointedly around at the lack of staff and the few morning patrons.

The man chuckled as he made the coffee, smirking at Mycroft. "Greg Lestrade, owner of Lestrudle. The name was punintentional." Greg laughed, looking up at him and hearing Mycroft quietly giggle, an unfamiliar sound to the minor government official. 

"Mycroft Holmes, happy patron." He extended a hand to him, seeing Greg's eyes crinkle happily as he shook it back. 

Greg smiled at him, holding his hand for a tad more than necessary. "Mycroft... Interesting name... Are you as interesting as your namesake?" 

Mycroft blushed ever so slightly but maintained his composure. "That, dear Greg, may only be revealed with due time. Lovely to meet you." He answered, much to Greg's amusement.

He walked from the shop feeling elated, his coffee in hand. Something niggled in his mind that told him that he might just be adjusting his usual habit. The coffee was incredibly well priced, after all.

* * *

The next day, Mycroft walked into the shop with a smile on his face as he saw Greg behind the counter, intricately icing a decadent chocolate strawberry cake. The baker was focused on his task, his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth as he concentrated, giving Greg a rather mischevious air. Smiling, Mycroft leant on the counter, a little way away from him and watched, waiting.

"That is particularly excuisite icing, Gregory." Mycroft smiled at him, watching him jump and grin back. "Almost as good as your coffee."

Greg laughed, running a hand easily through his hair. "Thanks, I appreciate it. Didn't think you'd be back so soon, Mycroft." He smiled, tidying away his piping bags. "Same as yesterday?"

Mycroft nodded, looking over at him. "Please.. I am a man of habit, and once something is so ingrained in my day it is hard to remove." 

"You've been here a day!" Greg teased warmly, starting to heat the milk. "I'm glad to hear my shop made such an impression on you, though." He turned back to him. "I still don't know why you're taking skinny milk, it's not as if you need it... Unless the coffee's not for you." Greg shrugged.

Mycroft blinked before blushing again. "No, no, the coffee is for me. My assistant loathes coffee, actually. I nearly consider it grounds for dismissal." He chuckled. "You may require an optician's appointment, shall I schedule you one?" He inwardly grimaced. Flirtation was not one of his many talents.

Greg chuckled regardless. "You've an assistant, sharp suit and wit likewise... Number cruncher in the city?" He asked, handing over the drink and not particularly minding as his hands brushed over Mycroft's. 

"Something like that." Mycroft replied with a faint blush, taking his coffee and looking at Greg fondly. "I know this may seem a little rash.." He started.

"Sir?" Anthea had put her head through the door. "We'll be off schedule." She hinted, looking between the pair with a small smile.

Mycroft turned bright red at that, giving Greg one final look. "Good day." He nodded, turning away before he could see Greg's returning grin, regardless of his slight confusion.

Once they were back in the car, Mycroft sipped his drink. "Remove the previous establisment from my schedule and replace it with this bakery."

Anthea smirked. "Found something in there you like, sir?"

"The coffee is incredibly reaonably priced, is it not?" Mycroft answered, knowing that he soon would be returning, though this time he might just stay for a decandent pastry, or perhaps something else on the menu. One could hope. 

 

 


End file.
